


i don't want you to leave (will you hold my hand?)

by candypinklouis



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flashbacks, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candypinklouis/pseuds/candypinklouis
Summary: The call isn’t on speaker, but Nick can hear Harry’s voice anyways, voice ten times higher and panicked. “Have you seen the news?”There’s a zombie apocalypse; Nick, Harry, and Louis must fight to survive.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25
Collections: The Tomlinshaw Fic Exchange 2019





	i don't want you to leave (will you hold my hand?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeAreTheLuckyOnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreTheLuckyOnes/gifts).



> I wish this could have been longer and have more stuff, but unfortunately I happen to be the biggest procrastinator in the world. Hopefully my person is at least somewhat happy with the results :)))
> 
> A HUGE thank you to the mods, Silv and Writ, for being so organized and helpful! Honestly can’t thank you guys enough for your patience.  
> Another tremendous thanks to my endlessly patient beta and Brit-picker, clumsykisses. She deserves all the kudos ever. :’)
> 
> **scenes in italics are flashbacks!
> 
> Any remaining mistakes or errors are my own.

Nick is balls deep inside of Louis when they get the call.

The tone sounds, and Louis easily reaches over to grab his phone.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Nick says. “You’re really going to answer your phone while we’re having sex?” 

Louis just shushes him. “It’s Harry,” he says, pressing the answer button. Nick swivels his hips one more time before pulling out, causing Louis to let out a little whine.

He glares at Nick and then puts the phone up to his ear.

The call isn’t on speaker, but Nick can hear Harry’s voice anyways, voice ten times higher and panicked. “ _ Have you seen the news?” _

Louis puffs out a little laugh. “No one watches the news anymore, Harry,” he says, but seems to pick up on Harry’s voice, because then he counters with “Why? Should I turn it on? Are you okay?”

_ “Zombies.”  _ Harry tells him.  _ “There are fucking zombies in the UK right now.” _

Louis turns to make eye contact with Nick, frowning. “Harry, dear, have you been watching horror movies again?”

Harry laughs hysterically.  _ “This isn’t a fucking joke!”  _ he exclaims.  _ “I swear to God. Turn on the telly.” _

Louis keeps looking at Nick, skeptical. Eventually he gets up and goes to the living room, Nick following. He clicks the television on with the remote, one-handed. The footie match he had on previously is still playing. He sighs a little bit, turning back to his phone. “Am I supposed to go the news channel, or--”

Nick grabs Louis’ elbow, eyes transfixed on the screen. “Louis--”

There’s a black border around the screen:  _ BREAKING NEWS. ZOMBIE OUTBREAK IN THE UK.  _ Footage of terrified people running, ducking into and out of cars, dropping things, falling. Then, of course, there’s the zombies themselves. How could he forget about them? Green and yellow skin mottled and barely concealing the broken veins and rotting flesh. Their sluggish lumber, open jaws, and most unnerving of all, pure white eyes. 

Nick feels as if he’s about to faint, but Louis just shakes his head slowly. “Is this a joke?!” He demands. “I must have changed the channel. This is some cheesy movie shit.”

“ _ It’s not! _ ” Harry sounds like he’s crying.  _ “I don’t know--what--” _

“Shhh,” Louis says. “Harry, you’re fine. We’re going to be alright. Take some deep breaths for me, okay?” 

Harry breathes unsteadily into the phone. Louis stands up abruptly. “Love, do you know where your inhaler is? Why don’t you…” His voice fades as he walks down the hallway, back towards their room. 

Nick looks after them, then heaves a breath and hangs his head. He peeks at the television, and can’t look away. 

The scenes are still just as chaotic. The livestream is a blur, camera turning in every direction, managing to capture maybe half the horror of reality. There’s someone who’s just been bitten, who falls to the ground with nothing more than a wince, but the groan he lets out next is terrifying. He shakes and shakes, transforming in a matter of seconds. A frantic voice over explains,  _ “About a fourth of the population are susceptible to conversion. The other three quarters--”  _ The camera pans to a horrifying amount of bodies slack on the ground.  _ “Dead immediately.” _

Louis comes back into the room, phone still in hand. He drops it onto the table and lets out a gusty sigh, staring at the telly. He walks up to it and presses the power button. 

Nick looks at Louis and then flops down onto the sofa, belly first, and hides his face in his hands.

“You’re getting lube on my sofa.”

“Literally why are you even worried about that?” Nick wails. “It’s the end of the world.”

Louis groans. “Not you too.”

“What do you mean?” Nick shrieks, and his voice is getting higher and higher, just like Harry’s. “You saw that footage, right? You saw! There’s-- there’s fucking zombies, they’re spreading, and they’re spreading  _ fast _ , it won’t be--there’s not--”

“You’re hyperventilating,” Louis says quietly. 

“And how are you  _ not _ ?!” Nick snaps. He’s breathing hard. “We’re all going to die. Accept your fate now.”

Louis slaps him on the arse and then sits on his back, making Nick yelp and then let out a big breath. "This isn't helping. You're suffocating me."

"Who cares? We're all going to die anyway," Louis says, and Nick can practically feel him rolling his eyes. 

They're silent.

"I don't think—" 

"Harry—"

Nick snuffles out a laugh despite himself. “What?”

Louis clears his throat. “Harry’s coming over. I think he’s going to make us leave the country, or something.” 

“Yeah.” Nick is quiet for a minute. “Is this actually happening?”

“I don’t know,” Louis tells him. “But I would probably put pants on before you do anything else.” 

“I guess. You’re sitting on me, though.” 

Louis hums noncommittally. “We’re not going to finish what we started?”

“Isn’t Harry coming over? And how are you still hard?” Nick asks, mystified, turning around to poke at Louis’ dick, which isn’t rock hard, but not soft either. “I lost my stiffy about the time the zombies came on screen. I feel like I should be worried that you didn’t.”

Louis tilts his hips up into Nick’s hand. “Consider it a compliment.” 

Nick sighs and pushes Louis away. “Harry will be here soon.”

“I don’t think seeing a little bit of cock will kill him. Hell, he’d probably enjoy it.”

“Who are you calling little?” Nick exclaims. He bucks up so Louis rolls off of him, squawking. He sits up. “Sorry, love, I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“Are you scared?” Louis asks softly, serious. 

“Aren’t you?”

Louis bites his lip, looks out of the window. “I don’t know, it hasn’t really hit me yet…” He laughs a little. “There is no way this is real life. No fucking way.”

He crawls back over so he can hug Nick very tightly. Like it’s the end of the world.

~

Ever since they had met, Nick knew Harry to look at the world through a pretty pair of rose coloured glasses. Now, though, Harry seems to look through anything but. His eyes are steely with determination, fixed on the road ahead; grip on the steering wheel tight. 

The car is ride silent. Nick sits in the front glancing between the window and Harry’s set jaw. Outside seems just as usual, if not muted. There are several people rushing around, carrying big shopping bags. No one looks at each other. No one talks.

Louis sits quietly in the backseat, picking at a seam on his jeans. He’s in the middle so he can see both Harry and Nick, two seatbelts strapped across his chest. (Getting into the car he had joked about Harry’s driving skills. That had been, most likely, the last normal moment of their lives.) It strikes Nick how little Louis looks, dwarfed by Harry’s big car and seats. He seems to get smaller by the moment, shrinking in fear.

Nick reaches back and taps Louis’ knee. Louis looks up at him, and Nick tries for a smile, holds out his hand. Louis slips a hand into his, squeezes gently, then lets go. He tucks both hands underneath his thighs, and resolutely looks out of the window. 

Nick keeps looking at him, and Louis must see him in his peripheral vision, because he snips “I’m  _ fine _ , Nicky,” without looking away. Nick hates when anyone calls him that, and it’s not the first time Louis has. A year ago, at a get-together where they had mutual friends:

_ The sliding door opens, and Louis is there, just as sharp and delicious and mean as he was inside. “Nicky,” he says, and goes to stand by him, arms resting on the balcony ledge. _

_ Nick huffed, irritated. “Don’t call me that.” _

_ Louis steals Nick’s cigarette from his mouth and puts it to his own. “I’m sorry, okay?” He says. “What I said, inside. I didn’t mean it. I was just being a dick.” _

_ “You were,” Nick agrees. He takes the cigarette back. “Did Harry send you out here?” _

_ “No,” Louis tells him. He doesn’t say anything else. _

_ Nick lets himself wallow in his anger a little bit longer. “Decided to be the grown-up, for once?” _

_ Louis still stays quiet. _

_ “I just don’t get your fucking problem. What have I done to you?” _

_ “You haven’t done anything.” _

_ “Then why—” _

_ “You see, I tend to be a little bit mean to people I like,” Louis admits. He slides over until he’s pressed up against Nick’s side.  _

_ “A little bit?” Nick says, then blanches. “Wait, what?” _

_ Louis rolls his eyes. “Come on. There’s no way you didn’t know.” _

_ “I … what?” Nick feels dizzy with Louis’ warmth and smell and  _ him _. _

_ “I like you, you bloody idiot,” Louis says. Then he winces. “Sorry. I’m trying not to be mean anymore.”  _

_ “You what? You, Louis Tomlinson, stroppy little popstar, like me? As in Nicholas Grimshaw, the—” _

_ “Take your time,” Louis says dryly.  _

_ Nick shakes his head in bewilderment. “I just can’t think, that—” _

_ “So don’t.” Louis puts his face close to Nick’s. “So don’t think.”  _

_ He kisses him.  _

_ They snog for ages, on Harry’s balcony in the drizzly evening of London. They keep on kissing until Louis pulls away, flushed and sweaty.  _

_ “You like me back?” he whispers.  _

_ Nick kisses him again, as an answer.  _

_ He didn’t mind the ‘Nicky’ so much anymore. _

~

Normally, when they’re all together, no one can shut up. Laughing and talking, they’ll catch each other up with their lives, talk about what’s going on, even let Harry tell some of his long-winded, boring stories.

The only conversation (if you could call it that) they’ve had so far is about their families.

“They’re in America,” Louis says. “I was supposed to meet them at my house a couple of days from now.” 

“My mum left me a voicemail,” Nick tells them. “She’s gone to Australia. I haven’t been able to tell her where I am. I think my siblings went with her. I don’t know.” He bites his lip.

Harry’s crying a little bit. “I don’t know where either of them are. Gemma or mum. I kept calling them, I keep hoping they’re not picking up because they’re on an airplane or something, but…”

“Oh, Harry…” Nick holds his hand. Louis reaches up from the backseat so he can stroke through Harry’s hair. Harry leans into it like a kitten, and squeezes Nick’s hand. He rubs at his eyes, lets out a deep sigh. “No signal coming up soon. Might as well enjoy music while we can.” He fiddles with a dial on the dashboard and a bright sounding song fills the car, poppy and bubbly. Then there’s a ringing noise, followed by static.

_ “Already one hundred thousand deaths and growing, twenty five thousand or more infected. Downtown London littered with bodies—” _

Harry turns the radio off. 

~

It’s hours before they finally arrive, and they’re all happy to get out of the car and stretch.

Everyone looks a bit washed out, the sky not quite overcast, pale sun hitting the tops of their shoulders and foreheads. It’s an inept kind of quiet, the way it never is with them.

“This is it,” Harry says eventually.

The shelter is kept low to the ground, made entirely of metal and dome shaped. It’s small, looks outdated and dirty.

Harry bites his lip. “I’m sorry, okay?” he says, a bit hysterically. “It was last minute, everything else was so far away—”

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re not complaining,” Nick reassures him. He steps closer so he can put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “It’s great.” 

“It’s not.”

Louis steps up so he can wrap his arms around Harry’s waist. “It’s fine, Harry,” he says. “Let’s just go inside now, okay?”

~

There isn’t too much in the shelter. One room, (besides the loo) circular in shape, sparse in materials, at least entertainment wise. There’s quite a bit of provisions, at least, but they're all premade so there isn't much cooking to be done. A kitchen area is still present, with a microwave and stove. Stacks and stacks of cartons of water bottles line the kitchen wall. 

Time passes four times as long as it did before, or at least Louis says. Harry makes them all play cards, or brain games to “keep their minds sharp”. Not that they would have refused anyway. There was nothing else to do. 

Around a month later the three of them start sleeping together. Not sexually, but Louis would sometimes sneak into bed with Harry for a little bit, claiming Nick stole the covers. Or there would be nights when Harry, plagued with bad dreams, came and snuggled up behind one of them. 

It was Nick who took the initiative to drag all of the mattresses to the side of the wall adjacent to the kitchen. The boys watch. But no one comments or complains. 

They even develop a routine, eventually, where every night someone switches to the middle, so one of them can be cuddled on both sides. 

It’s not always all affectionate snuggles, though. 

As predicted in a million movies before, their relationship suffers. Louis and Nick snipe at each other almost constantly, and not in the playful way they did before. Louis’ been unbearable. Making little digs at everything Nick does. It’s like he’s on patrol, jumping on anything he can. 

Nick’s not much better. He’ll raise his voice a lot, call Louis some not very nice names. They’ll roughhouse sometimes, pushing at each other, but all that leads to is unresolved sexual tension, both too angry to do anything about it. 

They both know exactly how the other works. What insecurities to jab at, how deep to stick the knife and just how far to twist it. They know what pisses the other off. Call it a consequence of being too close.

Nick’s sitting on the floor and trying to draw his way out of a maze on a worksheet. He’s cranky, bored and tired. All Louis has done so far that day is stalk around them like he’s too good to sit down and do the same.

He feels dumb, like a child struggling over a simple puzzle. The worksheet isn’t easy, per say, but it definitely shouldn’t be taking him as long as it is. He’s starting to consider the validity of Harry’s “brain games” when Louis takes a break from his brooding and stands above him. He leans over Nick’s shoulder to point at a pathway on the paper. “You’re supposed to go this way,” he says, rather condescending. 

“Thanks,” Nick replies tightly. He moves the pencil across the paper so he can draw a line down the path.

Louis scoffs. “No,  _ this _ way.” He leans down further so he can grab Nick’s pencil and make the line for him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Nick growls. He snatches the pencil back.

“It’s just a puzzle, mate, calm down,” Louis sneers.

Nick’s about to argue when Harry throws down his book and speaks up from their communal bed. “Shut up,” he snarls. “Can barely hear my own thoughts over you lot.”

On the rare occasion Harry gets involved too. Sometimes he takes sides, and other times he’s the one to get pissed off, sulking with his arms crossed, thunderous expression on his face. They leave him alone when he’s like that. 

Things always seem to ease up at night, though, when they need each other. When it’s dark and cold and scary to be on your own. The tension doesn’t completely dissipate, but it does lessen. 

It’s been days, though, since they’ve all last properly talked. Nick wonders how long it will be until they resort to cannibalism. 

Luckily he doesn’t have to worry about that, because one day he wakes up to Louis and Harry laughing and talking. He sits up and looks over at them, eyes still bleary. “What are you doing?” he asks through a yawn. 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table with papers spread over the entire surface. Harry grins at Louis, raises his eyebrows. Then he says, “we’re leaving.”

“ _ Leaving? _ Are you crazy? How would we even—“

Louis interrupts him. “Harry and I couldn’t sleep. We decided we couldn’t live with your snoring anymore—”

“Excuse  _ me _ —”

“—and Harry came up with a plan.”

Harry keeps grinning. “Come look at this.”

There’s all sorts of maps and blueprints and diagrams on the table. Harry’s hands have ink marks all over them, and Louis has a big smudge on his vest. It looks like they’ve been at it for hours.

“—so there should be a road heading south not too far from here,” Harry explains. “Louis remembers and he found all these maps, was able to decipher them—”

Nick nods dazedly.

“But we’ll probably need some protection while we’re driving, right? So there are a couple of mods I was thinking about, they shouldn’t be too hard, we were thinking—”

It’s a thought he can barely fathom. Leaving? After they’ve all been too scared to even peek outside? 

“Nick, are you listening?” Louis has a sort of manic look in his eyes.

“Yes. Um, why don’t you go lie down or something? You lads look tired. I’ll go, erm, start gathering supplies, or something.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced, but he agrees, pulling Harry along with him. He wraps his arms around Harry, a little-big spoon, and they’re asleep within minutes.

He does what he said he would. He looks at the list and finds scrap bits of material around the shelter and makeshift garage. The whole time his mind is whirling. He can’t help but wonder if this is the right thing to do. 

_ We’re going to die anyway,  _ he thinks.  _ Maybe we really should just try. _

Harry and Louis wake up a few hours later, motivated as ever. It’s endearing.

Their problems don’t stop, but the arguments do diminish when they start working. The plans give them something to do, a goal to accomplish.

None of them are proper  _ laddy _ or anything, so things are probably harder than they should have been, but they do their best. Finalizing plans and reworking the car only takes a month and a half. 

By the time they finish, Nick’s thinks they might have a chance. 

~

The plan is to be carried out the next day at dawn. They go to bed early, even earlier than their normal “early” bedtime.

Tonight in the rotation, it’s Nick’s turn to sleep in the middle, and he reckons he needs it. 

They're all quieter than usual, settling into bed. Boundaries gone a long time ago, Harry and Louis hold hands across Nick's chest. It's nice, for all of them to be physically affectionate, drawn so close Nick can't bring himself to be jealous of Louis and Harry's relationship. Besides, they’re warm and cuddly, and Nick’s just starting to doze off when Louis stirs beside him. 

Louis lifts his head from Nick's shoulder and starts sucking on his neck.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nick asks tiredly, not that he minds. 

“Nothing,” Louis whispers. He retracts his hand from Harry’s so he can clutch at the front of Nick’s shirt, sucking harder. 

Nick remembers, suddenly, something Louis had told him once. It was after Louis had asked if he could suck Nick’s cock, and had then proceeded to suck leisurely for nearly twenty minutes, almost falling asleep. Nick had pulled him off and asked what he was doing. Louis just smiled lazily and said,  _ what does it look like, Nicholas, I’m trying to give you a blowjob.  _ Nick just shook his head. Not like that, you weren’t, he told him. Louis rolled his eyes.  _ It’s relaxing, innit,  _ he had explained.  _ I just get to lay there with your cock in my mouth. Not anything else. Gets me mind off of everything for a bit.  _ It had taken a little more clarifying for Nick to really get it, but after another time, Louis was able to go more in depth.

_ When you’re in control,  _ he said, a little muffled.  _ It’s good for me. When you’re rough or when you just make me take it or when I get to feel used. It makes me feel protected. I don’t have to make any decisions. I don’t even have to think.  _ He had looked into Nick’s eyes then, given him a kiss on the lips.  _ I trust you so much, _ he said.  _ I trust you to take care of me.  _

Nick had nearly cried at the sweetness of it all, kissing Louis on the head and hugging him for ages. It became a special thing, not everyday, but not extremely rare either: this type of play. But now it had been a long, long time since they had done anything like that. 

He pulls Louis away from his neck, regardless, and slides his fingers into Louis’ mouth. “Shh,” he says when Louis whimpers around his fingers, trying to suck them deeper.

“Lads,” Harry says, voice rough. He’s just awoken. “What--?” He shifts around a bit, and then his eyes widen. “Wow, uh, should I, like, leave?”

Louis whines out a  _ “no,” _ and he reaches out, lightning quick, to grab onto Harry’s wrist. Harry just looks between the two of them, eyes wide. “Um,” he says.

Louis looks up at Nick with equally big eyes, pleading. He tilts his head to the side, still sucking on Nick’s fingers, nipping at them with his sharp little teeth. He maintains eye contact, asking a question. Nick stares back. Finally, he says, “Harry, how long has it been since you’ve gotten a blowjob?” 

“I dunno, awhile,” Harry all but stammers. He won’t take his eyes off of Louis, like they’re having a silent conversation too. “Um, why?”

Nick hums. “I think this one’s excited.” He uses his other hand to stroke through Louis’ hair. “For you. Do you want him to suck your dick?”

“Is this a trick question?”

Nick chuckles a bit. “No, Harry, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m being completely serious.”

“You won’t, be, uh, mad?” Harry bites his lip. 

“No.”

Harry keeps biting his lip. “Yeah. I’d really, really like that.” He’s already hard, eyes going dark. “Does he want to?”

Nick laughs again. “Oh, he wants to.” Louis growls at this remark, but otherwise doesn’t protest. 

“C’mon, love.” Nick pulls his fingers out of Louis’ mouth and taps him on the cheek.

Louis crawls over Nick, only briefly pausing to rut his cock against Nick’s hip. Then he settles himself between Harry’s legs, eager. 

Harry breathes out harshly through his nose when Louis reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out.

“Mm, it’s big, isn’t it,” Nick says when Louis whines. “Think you can take all of that? Little thing like you?”

Louis wriggles like he’s trying to say  _ of course I can _ , and promptly takes Harry’s dick into his mouth. 

Harry gasps like he's surprised, head falling back. He grabs at the duvet and his hips twitch. "Jesus  _ Christ _ , it's been too long," he tells Nick, letting out a quiet moan. He strokes his fingers through Louis' hair, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip. Louis seems quite pleased with himself, sucking with vigour, as if he's hungry for it. He hollows his cheeks, then comes back up for air so he can greedily lick at Harry's slit, lapping up precome like he loves the taste. Nick knows he does. 

Harry's hips jerk desperately again, groaning deep in his throat. His grip tightens in Louis' hair. 

“Here--” Nick guides Harry’s hand down so he’s holding onto the back of Louis’ head. “Fuck his throat. He likes it.”

“Shit,” Harry blurts. “I can’t--it’s been so long--” He lets himself tug Louis’ hair, fucking into his mouth. “Louis,” he hisses. 

Louis just whines around his cock, choking a little. He lets his hands fall to the side, eyes slipping shut. 

Harry comes with a nearly silent breath of air, going still and holding Louis’ head in place. 

Louis swallows everything without complaint, only some of it slipping out the corner of his mouth. He catches the drip with his fingertips and sucks it back into his mouth. He hums like he’s pleased, and lets Nick and Harry pull him back up so he’s laying between them.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks, fingers already dancing over Louis’ flank. 

Louis looks at Nick, who nods. Harry seems to understand. His hands roam over Louis’ body, like he’s exploring more than anything. He smooths his palm across Louis’ chest, over his belly, down his thigh. He eventually stops so he can cup Louis’ balls with one hand. 

Louis whimpers and tilts his hips up into it. He gasps, “wait, I want—” then rolls over onto his belly. “Keep touching me,” he demands. Then he puts his mouth on Nick’s cock.

He takes a longer time with Nick. It’s obvious he loves a dick in his mouth, even as he’s whining and rocking his hips down onto the duvet as Harry slides his hand down so he can play with Louis’ arsehole.

Nick’s stamina has suffered from their brief celibacy, and he finishes sooner than he’d like to admit. It’s worth it, though, to see Louis try to catch all the come with his mouth. When he’s done getting a taste of everything, Louis wriggles back up between them. He puts his face into Harry’s neck. 

“There you go, love,” Nick murmurs. He strokes Louis cock slowly. He’s gotten so wet, precome dripping down his shaft so it’s gotten all over his tummy. Louis finally comes with a moan, whining desperately until Harry kisses him quiet.

Sleep comes easy that night.

~

They leave in an industrial truck, side windows boarded up with a weave of wood and metal. The outside is spray painted camo colours. The inside only has three seats; two in the front, one awkwardly balanced between crates of ammunition, food, and water. Only two of the doors work, too, handles removed from the back ones. They had worked on the truck for ages. After making the adjustments, they had all stood back proudly. That is, until Louis had said, “Okay, so where are we supposed to piss?”

They looked at each other.

"Um, out of the window?" Harry had said. But he was unsure. 

"They don't open," Louis reminded him.

They looked at each other some more.

"Oh my God, we'll just have to fucking hold it," Nick said. "Eventually we'll stop and you can go piss in a zombie's mouth or something." 

Louis laughed. “Wow, kinky,” he said. He still helped Harry put some empty two litre bottles in the back, though. 

Looking at the truck now feels surreal. They had planned and prepared for ages, but today is finally going to be the day they leave. Seating in the truck had been flip flopped since the first day they arrived. Nick argued to be the driver, since he was the oldest and had more experience. Louis insisted he be in the front, where he would help with directions and hold Nick’s hand when he was scared. That left Harry to be in the back, which he happily agreed to. 

Nick keeps staring at the car. Today is going to be different. Sixty eight days in the shelter. Life had become routine, had become the new safe. He almost wanted to just stay. But supplies are running low, and they have to get away, drawn by the hope of others who have managed to survive. The chances weren’t good. No one brings that up.

He’s shaken from his reverie by Louis, who honks the horn, rather rudely. “Come on, old man,” he yells. “You’re not getting any younger.” 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming,” Nick says. He gets into the front seat, turns and looks at the two boys. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“We’ve been ready,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He leans back in his seat. Harry just smiles at Nick, a tad uneasily. He sits back as well.

“No one’s forgotten anything?” Nick’s trembling, just a little bit.

Louis groans. “Nick. Stop stalling.” But he’s anxious too, leg bouncing up and down, his hands curled into little fists. “Let’s go.” 

“Don’t I get a kiss for luck?” Nick begs. He’s starting the car anyway.

“You’ll get a kiss when we get the fuck out of here,” Louis tells him. “Step on it, Nicholas.”

Nick steps on it.

They’re outside, now, for the first time in a while. Louis and Harry are clamouring to see out of the spaces in the window, trying to get a look at the sky. “God, I really took the outdoors for granted,” Harry says. “Is it weird that I want to, like, sniff the air?” 

“No, I want to too,” Louis says. His face is pressed up against the glass. “Look at all that grass over there. I want to play some football right now.”

“Yeah, me too,” Harry agrees, even though he’s terrible at it. “Do you think it’s bad karma that I’m happy?”

Louis just laughs at him. “I hope not. I’m so fucking thrilled.” He turns his attention back to Nick. “Keep going straight, Nicholas. I looked at the maps and we should find a road pretty soon.” 

“Nothing about Nick is straight,” Harry sniggers. It’s really not that funny, a joke that’s been made a million times, but both he and Louis are giddy with excitement, and they burst into a fit of giggles.

"Neither of you are straight either," Nick says. He's still tense but their good mood is infectious, and he relaxes considerably when they finally pull onto a road. 

They’ve only been driving for five minutes when Harry and Louis devise a game of I Spy.

“I spy with my little eye, something pink.”

“I swear to God, Harry, there is no pink around us for miles.”

“Yes there is! Quick, you’re going to miss it.”

“There isn’t—” Louis cuts himself off. “I spy a fucking zombie.”

“That’s not funny, Louis.” Nick says sharply. But Harry lets out a little gasp, and Louis’ turned white.

“What—” Nick tries to twist around, see what they’re looking at. His heart rate speeds up as he tries to simultaneously keep his eyes on the road and desperately scan their surroundings. “There’s only one, right? Not that big of a deal.” 

No one says anything.

“Boys?” He starts to panic, and they’ve been going at a steady seventy five, but his nerves have made him tense up and the speedometer is pushing one hundred. Nick’s about to force an answer out of one of the two when he hits something, and the truck swerves violently to the right. He lets out a muffled shriek, trying to keep the car on the road. “What was that,” he gasps, voice barely making it out of his throat. “Someone answer me!”

Louis and Harry are too busy talking to themselves to listen to him, and he can’t even hear what they’re saying over the rush of blood in his ears. There’s another thud to his windshield; he’s gone practically blind with hysteria.

Suddenly, Louis’ unbuckled his seatbelt, crawling over Nick’s lap and trying to squish into his side, sitting next to him, closest to the window. Harry has climbed into Louis’ vacant seat and they’re giving each other nervous glances like Nick can’t see them. At last, Louis gives Harry a hesitant but affirmative nod, and they both open the doors.

“What in the bloody  _ fuck _ do you lot think you’re doing?” Nick yells. He’s finding it harder and harder to focus on the road ahead of him. Louis has his leg hooked between both of Nick’s, one hand holding onto the car, the other gripping a shotgun.

_ When _ had he gotten hold of that?

“Keep driving,” Louis says into his ear, scarily steady. “We’re going to be alright.”

With that, he clenches his thighs tighter and staggers to a somewhat standing-squatting position, angles himself around the door, and starts shooting.

“Oh my fucking God,” Nick whimpers. He can feel the kickback from the gun shudder through Louis’ entire body, shaking him as well. On his other side, Harry’s doing the same thing, balanced dangerously on the car seat. The  _ bang _ of the gun seems to get louder and louder. 

“They’re all over the goddamn car,” Harry says; quietly, like he almost wishes they wouldn’t hear him.

“Who?!” Nick shouts, even though he knows. Louis’ fumbling in his pocket for more ammo. The gun is only a double barrel.

Nick realizes belatedly that he’s crying. The boys beside him are relentless, shooting and reloading like a machine. “I got one!” Harry yells, like they’re playing a fucking video game and he’s winning. Louis hoots his congratulations but otherwise keeps doing what he’s doing. Nick has practically floored the pedal. He’s choking on his breaths, eyes watering. They nearly bug out of his head when he sees what they’re heading into.

“Get in the car, now!” he screams. There’s a whole crowd of them ahead, at least thirty, all going at the same, slow, lumbering pace. He tugs Louis back down onto his lap. “Now, Harry!”

But Harry either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen. He keeps his balance, shooting like he’s on autopilot. He yells, “they’re hanging onto the back, I need to--” He leans further out of the door.

Nick pushes Louis into the vacant seat. “Get him down!” he hisses, and makes a rapid U-turn in the middle of the street. Louis struggles to crawl across the seats, trying to grasp for the ends of Harry’s shirt or trousers. 

The truck is going at least a one hundred, bouncing along the road. They hit a bump, and the vehicle swerves uncontrollably. Louis catches the waistband of Harry’s trousers and tries to pull him back in, but it’s too late.

The road’s too rough, and Harry’s jolted from his precarious stance.

Louis nearly screams. “Stop the car,” he chokes. “Oh my fucking God, Nick, stop the car!”

They come to screeching halt. Nick barely has time to put the car in park before Louis has jumped out and started running, back towards where Harry’s fallen. Nick’s fast, grabbing a shotgun from the back and dashing after him.

It doesn’t look good. Harry’s on the ground, must have took a hard hit from the fall. He’s propped up on his elbows, kicking desperately at a zombie that leers over him. He manages to push it away several times, even smashing at its limbs with the end of his gun. This seems to backfire, though, when the zombie loses its balance and all but falls onto him. 

The sight puts a different kind of impulse in Nick. He sprints faster than he thought was possible, and with a rush of energy kicks the zombie off of Harry, continuing until it rolls a safe distance away. It’s all instinct when he shakily loads the gun, aims, and shoots. He can see it’s mouth gaping open; a constant, creepy smile. What’s most striking, though, is the blood in its rotting teeth. It looks fresh. Nick’s heart beats impossibly faster.  _ Did it—did it bite— _

“Harry!” Louis gasps, jerking towards him. He grabs onto Harry’s shoulders and shakes them. “Harry, get up, quick!”

But Harry’s fingers are already turning a ghostly white, the color creeping up his arms. He lets out a groan.

“Louis,” Nick says sharply, panic rising in his chest. “Louis, he’s--”

But Louis won’t listen to him, keeps shaking Harry, trying to get him to sit up. He’s crying, begging Harry,  _ please, please, Harry, get up get up get up.  _

Harry groans again. His eyes open and then shut.

And Nick had heard the virus was quick,  _ seen _ it on a screen so long ago, and it was faster depending on how susceptible you were, but this is like fire, flames of the illness just engulfing Harry, taking him over like a seizure. Nothing the TV or radio ever showed or told could compare to this, his best friend rotting in front of his eyes. He almost throws up.

Harry’s flesh is falling out in chunks, showing bone. Blood is dripping from open lesions all over his body, his eyes are sunken in, hair now a dull colour, lank and greasy. He looks up, eyes completely white and leaking, his grin sinister.

Louis backs away when Harry moves from all fours to standing.

He makes a halfway lunge at Louis, who squeaks and promptly kicks him in the balls. It doesn’t affect him— _ it _ , Nick thinks,  _ not him anymore. Harry’s an it _ — as it would a human. The zombie jumps a little bit but other than that doesn’t react, continuing on a slow, lumbering approach towards them. 

Nick can’t move. There’s supposed to be two responses to fear— fight or flight, but Nick’s on  _ freeze _ . Louis shouts something he can’t hear, and the zombie is even closer now, oozing everywhere.

Louis comes out of nowhere and slams the zombie’s head with the butt of his shotgun. The zombie lets out a low groan, its hand falling on Nick’s arm, Nick gasps, trying to pull away. The zombie turns to him, with its white eyes, no pupil or iris, and looks at him. Really looks. Its mouth opens, grimaces, like it's trying to speak.

“Fucking  _ Christ _ , Nick, move!”

His brain finally catches up and he lurches back, grabbing the back of Louis’ shirt and pulling him with him. They keep backing away, stumbling. 

“Run,” Nick says. 

Louis looks desperately at the truck, but it’s paces away and the swarm of zombies continue to advance. He heaves a breath, then turns around and sprints.

The shelter is still in sight, but Nick’s almost afraid they won’t make it. It must be at least a mile, or mile and a half away. 

Adrenaline is an amazing thing, though, and he doesn’t feel anything.

They kept the same pace. Louis was faster, but his short legs gave him a disadvantage. Eventually they slow down to a trot, and finally just shuffling along the ground. Dust kicks up from their feet.

They don’t talk on the way home, and they don’t encounter any more zombies either. 

~

As soon as they get back, Louis retires into one of the only other rooms in the shelter; a tiny little thing that’s more like a closet, where they store supplies. He hates going in there, always making Nick or Harry gather things when they’re out. But it’s the only place where he can shut the door, which he makes very apparent by closing it with a loud thud.

Nick stares dejectedly at the door.  _ Leave him alone _ , his brain rationalizes, but every instinct begs him to gather Louis into his arms and hold him until he’s okay again. He can’t do that. Nobody could make any of this okay.

He lets himself collapse onto a chair, but only after he takes off his jacket, shoes, and sweaty T-shirt, methodically and one at a time. Nick is convinced that this can’t be real. He can’t be living in a post apocalyptic world, waking up every day wishing he hadn’t, his best friend dead.

He indulges himself in the thought— _ Harry’s not actually dead _ —but pushes it out of his head as quickly as it comes. Harry’s not himself anymore. He doesn’t know anything other than the virus’s primal instinct; to infect. There’s no cure. He might as well be dead.

But there had been those moments. When Harry’s zombie had looked different. As if, even for an instant, it was self aware. Like it had known what it was, or rather, what it used to be. 

_ Harry’s gone _ , Nick reminds himself, and doesn’t cry. Instead, he stalks over to an empty spot of wall and punches it as hard as he can. It ought to have hurt, but he doesn’t feel it. There are scrapes on his knuckles, which he ignores in lieu of knocking on Louis’ door.

“Lou, baby,” he calls. “Are you there?” 

“Where else would I be,” Louis responds flatly, voice close enough that he must be leaning against the door. “Leave me alone.”

Nick listens. He goes into the kitchen and stares at the tiled floor, wishing he could stop thinking. He goes cross-eyed trying to count the scratches on the floor and finally lays down on the cold tiles, letting memories overcome him.

_ They’re on Harry’s kitchen floor, staring up at the ceiling. It had been Harry’s idea to do some cloud watching, and it was by the time they got there when he remembered he didn’t have a skylight. It was nice anyway. _

_ “Do you think we’ve had too much weed?” Nick asks Harry, pretending to draw on Harry’s arm. “Look, I’m a tattoo artist.”  _

_ “Nooo, no tattoos!” Harry exclaims. “I hate tattoos. They’re ugly and stupid.” _

_ Nick stares. “What do you mean? You have, like, seventy billion of them.” _

_ “That was the joke,” Harry tells him. _

_ “What joke?” _

_ “I don’t know. What was the question?” Harry asks. Then, without giving him time to answer, he says, “We should throw you a birthday party.” _

_ “My birthday literally happened last month,” Nick reminds him, cracking an eye open. (when had he closed them?) “It’s too late to have one, and too early to start planning.” _

_ Harry frowns. “True,” he sighs disappointedly, scratching his head. “Well maybe you can just tell everyone it’s your birthday now. They must have forgotten about it by now.”  _

_ Nick can’t stop laughing. “They probably did,” he wheezes. “Everyone is so forgetful. I don’t even remember five minutes ago.” _

_ Harry laughs with him. Then he turns over onto his belly and starts crying. _

_ “What _ — _ ” Nick sits up and tries to get Harry to do the same. "Harry, what's wrong?" _

_ Harry chuckles through his tears. "I'm trying to remember five minutes ago," he says. "Then I got really worried that I wouldn't be able to remember anything for the rest of my life."  _

_ "Oh." Nick thinks for a minute. "Well, you remember my birthday party, right?" _

_ "Yeah."  _

_ "So you're okay! That was five minutes ago." _

_ "No it wasn't," Harry frowns. "That was like, an hour ago." _

_ "Even better. Look how good your memory is!" _

_ "Oh my God Nick, I fucking love you," Harry says.  _

_ “Same,” Nick says. He leans back onto the floor. “I love you too.” _

He’s shaken from his reverie by a heavy clang. It makes him jump, hitting his head on the counter and cursing. He thinks it’s Louis, at first, but the noise came from the opposite end of the room and he doubts Louis has left the storage closet yet.

Then what could it be?

Frowning and rubbing his sore head, he shuffles out of the kitchen space and looks around for the disturbance. Nothing has fallen over, at least that he can tell. Finally, he calls Louis’ name.

“I told you to leave me alone,” Louis yells back.

Nick ignores him this time. “Did you hear that?”

Louis sounds pissed off. “Stop fucking around. Now of all times. Jesus Christ, I fucking hate you sometimes.”

It’s nothing Nick hasn’t heard before.  _ I hate you _ . But it’s always been in a fond, exasperated way, an I love you in disguise. Now, he thinks Louis might be serious. His heart sinks. That hurt.

Before he can think of a response, there’s another bang and a scraping sound, and this time Nick knows it’s coming from outside. Right outside.

“I’m not coming out,” Louis says stubbornly. “I don’t care what you’re doing.”

“That wasn’t me,” Nick yelps. “It’s coming from outside.” He looks around wildly as if the walls were clear and he could see out of them. This, unfortunately, isn’t the case. The walls  _ aren’t _ clear, he  _ can’t  _ see, and he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

“I’m going to open the door,” He says finally.

Louis stays quiet. 

“I just need to—“ He undoes the bolts across the heavy metal door, pulling to drag it open; it’s usually a two person job.

“Nicholas Grimshaw, don’t you dare!” Louis yells. “Are you trying to get us killed?” 

At the same time Nick manages to get the door open, Louis finally storms out, practically growling. He stalks up to Nick and tries to yank the door back. “I can’t believe you—“

He stops when he sees what Nick’s looking at, and turns white. 

Nick’s legs have gone numb. 

Harry’s zombie is leaning against the wall, right beside the door. 

Nick knows it’s him. Who else could it be? Harry, who always wants to be included, who never leaves when times get tough, who, more than anyone, wanted to stick together. 

It groans and uses its fist to bang the titanium, dragging across the wall. It isn’t facing them, but seems to have noticed an occurrence behind it, and slowly turns around. It sees them, and at first Nick thinks he might see something—an expression—of shock, maybe, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, so fast he must have imagined it.

Louis holds onto Nick’s wrist, grip like a vise. 

A sick smile stretches across the zombie’s face. It moans again and makes a slow, stumbling movement like it’s going to get up. When it laughs, it’s a rusty, evil sound: gravelly and rough.  _ Heh heh heh.  _

It gets to its feet.

Nick and Louis stumble backwards into the doorway and struggle to close it again. The heave of the zombie’s footsteps is audible, and all to fast. They’re both gasping, the bulky door catching on the ground. Every passing second is like an hour. Bit by bit, they manage to get it closed. 

Nick twists the bolts back into place and slumps against the door. Louis trips backwards and falls on his bum. Outside, they can hear the zombie sigh and groan, raking its fingernails across the metal, scraping.

“He’s gone,” Nick pants. “That’s not—that’s not him.”

Louis looks up at him and for a second Nick thinks he’s going to argue. But Louis just raises his chin up a bit, then drops it back down. A tiny nod. “There’s no cure,” he says. Then he gets up and goes back to the storage room.

Nick watches him go.

~

He goes to bed alone.

He settles on the canvas, underneath the duvet. Louis is still in the other room. He thought it would take him a long time to fall asleep, with his best friend gone, absence of a warm body next to him, and the incessant groaning and tapping outside of the door--but it’s as if he blacks out before he even lays down.

That night, he dreams. 

Nick is in a deserted bar with a blue rose wrapped around his leg, the bloom resting against his thigh as if it’s sleeping. There’s an emerald green dog on the counter next to him, lapping something black out of a bowl. In front of him, there’s a glass of the same black liquid, ice cold and refreshing. Nick licks his lips, realizing how thirsty he is…

As soon as he touches the glass, the flower on his leg tightens and burns hot, leaving him gasping. He lets go of the cup and it relaxes. He tries to tear it off, but it just tenses again, this time growing thorns that pierce through his jeans and attach themselves painfully underneath his skin. He ignores it and reaches for the glass, gritting his teeth. Then the dog stands up and barks at something behind him. 

He turns, and faces Harry’s zombie.

It isn’t talking or grunting anymore, but the silence is almost worse as it makes its sluggish approach towards him. Nick jerks back, but the flower is still holding him tight. He wrenches it out of the ground and tries to run, tripping over the stem and his own feet. The dog won’t stop barking. It snarls at the zombie, snapping at its rotting limbs, as if it were any match…

Nick wakes up wheezing, a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.

It’s Louis. “Get up,” he says, expressionless. “We have to kill it.”

~

It’s quiet that morning. No more noises come from outside. Louis and Nick don’t talk about anything, except for vague notions about their plan. 

“Let’s just—let’s just get out there and fucking shoot it,” Louis snaps after a significant amount of time avoiding the actual goal. “It shouldn’t be that hard. It’s two against one.”

“Okay, do  _ you _ want to shoot it then?” Nick asks. “We don’t even know where it is. There’s no noise anymore. And what if it went and got some of its zombie friends? Then it wouldn’t be two against one. And what if—”

Louis groans. “I don’t think zombies have that kind of brain capacity, Nick. Even if we can’t find it let’s just get the truck back. It has all of our stuff in it.”

He agrees, eventually. Not that he isn’t terrified. All of their legitimate weapons are still on the truck, a mile away. They’re left to leave armed with only a hammer each. “This is ridiculous,” Nick huffs. “Hammers? We look fucking stupid right now. Like kids.”

“Well  _ luckily _ there’s no one else around to see us, since they’re all fucking dead,” Louis snorts. “What do you want to do? Punch one in its face?”

“Jesus, you can’t just say things like that. And maybe I will.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go.” They reach the door and then hesitate. 

“You can go first,” Louis offers. 

“That’s alright, you go on ahead,” Nick tells him. “I’ll even hold the door for you.”

“Ladies first.”

“Wha—? You’re more feminine than me!”

“You’ve been—you know what, fine, I’ll go,” Louis says. “For fuck’s sake. This is so dumb.”

The bolts are too loud when he finally gets them open. Nick flinches.

Louis breathes in deeply, then out. He sets one foot outside, then another. He takes a tentative step forward and begins walking. 

They walk for half an hour, maybe more, before they find the truck. There are no zombies to be seen.

They approach it and after a cautious walk around the entire vehicle, they deem it safe to get up close. 

“Okay, okay,” Louis chants, dropping his hammer. “I don’t see the keys? Where are the keys? Nick, where did you put them?”

“I don’t know—“ Nick drops his hammer too, frantically opening one of the doors so he can look in. “I should have left them in the ignition—“

“They aren’t there.” Louis’ at the driver’s side, eyes scanning the floor. “Did they fall on the ground?” He ducks his head so he can look under the car. Nick’s looking in the back, hands running across the floor wildly.

He’s thinking that they must have left them somewhere when Louis lets out a shrill scream. Nick comes running over, and there it is: the thing that used to be Harry, crouched near one of the tires, almost underneath the car. Upon seeing them, it crawls out and gets to its feet unsteadily. 

Nick freezes again, gaping. He thought he would be used to it by now, the third time he’s seen Harry’s zombie up close and personal, but it’s never easier. He still feels shell-shocked and horrified. Louis cowers beside him. He whimpers. “Fuck, we have to—” he takes a step sideways, but as soon as he does, the zombie dives for him.

For a minute, Nick sees red— _not_ _ my Louis _ —and before he knows it, he musters all the strength he has and punches it in the face.

The zombie takes the hit as if it actually hurt. Its head jerks back and it stumbles a little, trying to regain its balance.

Louis laughs hysterically. “I can’t believe you just punched a zombie.”

“Just hurry up,” Nick snaps. He lands another hard blow on its jaw. “I don’t want to keep doing this. It’s fucking gross.” As if on cue, the zombie’s deteriorating cheekbone finally cracks, and the shred of skin covering most of its face falls off. Nick shrieks, trying to run backwards. At least he’s stopped the zombie from its approach. “Louis!” 

“I’m looking!” Louis yanks open the driver’s side door again so he can crawl between the seats. He pauses so he can toss Nick one of the preloaded shotguns. Nick catches it, but wishes he hadn’t. He holds the cool metal in his palms, and looks to where Harry’s zombie stands, swaying a little.

Louis comes up behind him with a gun of his own. He aims and puts his finger on the trigger. Then he lowers it. “I can’t do it.”

Nick’s chin trembles. “I can’t either.”

They look at each other as if they’re having a staring contest. Like the first one who blinks will have to do it. 

The zombie takes its opportunity to lurch towards them.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Nick yelps. Instincts take over, and he pulls the trigger. 

Dumb luck does it, and it’s disgusting. The zombie’s head explodes with a million noises combined into one. An echoing bang from the gun; the sound of an orange slammed on concrete. Brains and shards of skull go everywhere, as well as some kind of fucking  _ body fluid. _ Nick gets splashed and he gags.

His ears are ringing.

What remains of the zombie’s body falls to the ground with a squelch. He feels only a brief flash of guilt and regret. Nick breathes out a sigh of relief.  _ It’s dead. For real this time. _

Louis shouts his name. When Nick turns around, Louis gestures frantically in the distance. A group of five zombies are trudging towards them, not fast, but not exactly slow either. They both load their guns and aim, almost in sync. 

Nick misses considerably more than he hits, but he manages to nail a few of them down.

“Okay, we get it, you can shoot,” Louis says. His voice is shaking. “Come on already. I’ve found the keys.”

Nick wastes no time getting into the car. He heaves himself up into the passenger's seat and reloads the gun. “This is so funny,” he tells Louis, even as he starts to drive. “You know how people will say, ‘I call shotgun’? Well, I’m in the shotgun seat, and I actually  _ have  _ a shotgun—“

“Christ, were you always this dumb or is the trauma finally getting to you?” Louis asks. He makes a rapid turn so that dust flies up from the tires. Nick coughs. “Were you always this bad of a driver?” 

Louis’ hands are tight on the steering wheel. “Yes,” he replies. “But your blathering on about  _ shotguns _ isn’t really helping matters.” 

“Okay, I’ll be quiet.” Nick twists around so he can look behind him. “They’re way far behind us. We’re fine.” 

“Yeah.” Louis muses, almost as an afterthought. “It’s probably weird to say I’m proud of you, right? You were amazing.”

Nick smiles. “Thanks. You did good out there too.”

Louis snorts, but his lips do curve up at the corners.

It doesn’t take too long to get home. Louis pulls into the garage with a squeal of the tires and parks shakily. Nick jumps out and looks dejectedly at all the things they need to unload.

“We can get all this shit out later,” Louis says, waving his hand at the trunk. His legs are trembling from the exertion and adrenaline.

“Yeah,” Nick says. They stumble to the door, finally, and manage to get inside. He sort of can’t believe it.

“We did it,” Nick says hoarsely, boots sliding on the floor. “We—we did it!” He’s grinning at Louis maniacally now, struck with disbelief and gratitude.

Louis looks surprised at first, then beams. “We did,” he agrees. Then he’s laughing. “Fuck, Nick,” and he throws himself into Nick’s arms, and they’re hugging, not out of sadness or loss or fear or the need for comfort, but in elation. Nick is laughing too, by the time he sets Louis down, giddy with happiness. “We should shower,” he says, kicking off his boots. 

Louis is tripping over his shoes too, already shrugging his muddy jacket off onto the floor. “We should have sex.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Nick agrees, and he gets out of his clothes considerably faster. 

So they do. Then they do it again, and again, and again. Then Louis reveals a secret stash of his favorite tea he had kept hidden, which prompted Nick to pull out a packet of digestive cookies he had put behind a shelf. They have a tea party. Then they play card games and Louis sings to him, the first time in forever. They manage to laugh. 

It’s somewhat perfect.

But of course, the glory of victory dies down after a while. 

Life, in a sense, goes back to normal. There’s nothing to do, as always. Nick feels as if he’ll drown in his own thoughts. 

They don’t let themselves miss him. His name isn’t spoken. His possessions are shoved into a corner cabinet, out of sight. Louis catches Nick crying into one of Harry’s shirts and doesn’t say anything. He turns away like he hasn’t seen, but the next day, the shirt is gone. 

He tries to pretend sometimes, desperately, that it’s normal. They’re just a couple living together. But nothing about their life is normal. They barely talk about anything. Speaking about the past is painful, and speaking about the future is unbearable. The present, on the other hand, has no substance to even talk about. Nick actually jumps when Louis tries to say something to him. 

“I wish we had alcohol.”

“Yeah.” Nick lets himself reminisce about the first time they were properly drunk together. It’s one of his fondest memories, and it had started with Louis’ invitation.

_ It had just been another one of those parties Nick had been lucky enough to be invited to. He’s only been there fifteen minutes when none other than Louis Tomlinson saunters up to him, flirty and coy. _

_ Louis plays with the hem of Nick’s sleeve. “You should come over.” _

_ “Oh yeah?” _

_ “Yeah. We can get day drunk and have sex.” _

_ Nick rolls his eyes. “One track mind, you have,” he says, but he’s smirking. They’ve messed around a bit, very discreetly, but  _ sex _ sounds more serious. _

_ “Okay, so I guess that’s a no,” Louis sniffs. He goes to stalk away, but NIck grabs his arm and pulls him back, laughing. _

_ “Don’t be like that,” he says. “I’ll come.” _

_ Louis brightens. “Tomorrow?” _

_ “Tomorrow? Are you out of your mind? We’ll be hungover tomorrow,” NIck tells him. _

_ “Maybe  _ you  _ will,” Louis counters. He rolls his eyes. “Old man.” _

_ “You wonder why I bother talking to you given all of this abuse.” _

_ “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be at mine by three,” Is all Louis says. He turns to walk away again, but stops when Nick calls his name. _

_ “Don’t you want to have a drink with me?” _

_ “No,” Louis says. “Why would I want to hang out with you?” He walks away, for real this time, but not before turning around and winking. _

_ Nick just shakes his head. This boy.  _

_ He does end up going, of course, half for the reason that he does actually want to, and half for the reason that Louis would murder him. Luckily, he isn’t hungover, granted that he had been warned about the next day and hadn't had much to drink the previous night. _

_ He gets to Louis’ at exactly 3:07, and he knows this because he stands on the doorstep for a while, waiting for Louis to come to the door. He’s contemplating leaving, because he’s already rung the doorbell three times, and he hasn’t Louis’ number. Just before he’s about to turn around and go, the door swings open. _

_ “You’re late,” Louis informs him flatly. _

_ “Um _ — _?” Nick stutters, affronted. “I wouldn’t have been if you had answered the door.”  _

_ “No. I saw you get here at 3:07 so I waited seven more minutes. It’s 3:14 now.” _

_ “Literally why didn’t you let me in when you saw me get here?”  _

_ “You were seven minutes late! So I made you wait seven more minutes.” _

_ “This is so ridiculous,” Nick huffs. “Are you going to let me in now or not?”  _

_ Louis laughs at him. “Yes, Nick. I’m happy you’re here.” _

_ He steps back to let Nick inside. He’s only wearing a loose pair of joggers, feet bare, cheeks pink. Nick squints at him, even as his throat goes dry. “Exactly how much have you had to drink?” _

_ Louis shrugs. “Only a couple of shots, but I’ve always been a lightweight.” _

_ “Jesus. Better catch me up then.” _

_ It doesn’t take them long to be giggly and drunk, flopping onto the sofa together. Louis turns on a footie match despite Nick’s protests, which somehow leads to him trying to teach Nick how to do a somersault.  _

_ “I know how to do a somersault.” _

_ “Why aren’t you doing one then?” Louis turns and does one of his own easily. “I can only do these when I’m drunk, if I’m being honest.” _

_ “I have a bad back.” _

_ “Oh yeah. You’re old. I forgot.” _

_ “You’re so mean,” Nick complains. _

_ Louis ignores him. “Turn over, I’ll give you a massage.” _

_ “Will you really?” Nick rolls onto his belly. _

_ “Yeah, I used to do massages for me mum all the time.” Louis perches on the back of NIck’s thighs and immediately digs the heels of his hands into Nick’s back. _

_ “Fuck,” Nick hisses. “You’re good at this.”  _

_ He can practically feel Louis smile. “Lots of sitting down, right? For your job. Which means your lower back will have a lot of tension.” He presses his thumbs down hard, so that Nick groans.  _

_ “How _ — _ ” Nick pants. “How have you been doing by the way? Without her?” _

_ Nick curses his drunk-loose lips. He’s half expecting to get jumped.  _

_ Louis doesn’t say anything for a bit. He keeps rubbing his hands up and down Nick’s back. Finally, he says, “I’m alright. I mean, you never really get over it. You just kind of learn to live. I’m doing a whole lot better than I was.”  _

_ Nick nods as if he understands. “I’m glad, you know,” he says eventually. “That you’re doing better. Really. You’ve been--you’ve been so strong.”  _

_ “Thank you,” Louis murmurs. He sounds genuine. “I appreciate it.” _

_ Silence passes between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Louis asks, “What are you thinking about, then? How’s the life of brilliant radio personality Nicholas Grimshaw?”  _

_ “You're so obnoxious.” _

_ Louis honest to god  _ giggles. _ “What’s up?” _

_ “Nothing,” Nick sighs.  _

_ “Don’t lie to me, mister.” Louis smacks him on the back of the head. _

_ “Ow!” _

_ “Speak now or forever hold your crippling mental pain,” Louis says with a straight face. _

_ Nick sniggers, but quickly quiets down.  _

_ “I just _ — _ I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lost my touch. We’re losing listeners, and Finchy’s told me that I’ve sounded exhausted on radio lately. I don’t want the show to flop because of me. But I don’t really know how or what to change, either.”  _

_ “You’re a good host, though,” Louis tells him. “I mean your friends obviously love talking to you. And sometimes you can be proper funny. That story you told the other day about the donkey? I had a bit of a laugh over that one.” _

_ “You listen?” Nick asks, surprised. _

_ Louis flushes pink. “No. Yes. Don’t go on about it.”  _

_ Nick would very much like to go on about it, but he refrains for now. He cracks a smile. “I mean, I suppose I do know I’m an alright host. It just doesn’t feel that way sometimes, you know? Brain’s a bit irrational.” _

_ “Oh Nick,” Louis says sadly.  _

_ “Yeah.” He exhales. _

_ Louis stops pressing on Nick’s back so he can lay on top of him, covering Nick’s body with his own. It’s nice enough that his eyes close. He lets himself be cuddled.  _

_ Nick wakes up a couple hours later, mostly sober, and very warm from Louis’ body heat. When he sits up, Louis rolls over sleepily and blinks up at him. Without thinking, Nick presses a kiss to his forehead. It makes Louis’ mouth tilt up. His eyes crinkle. _

_ They don’t actually end up having sex, but Nick doesn’t mind. _

~

Louis doesn’t hide in the storage room anymore. If anything, he’s clingier than ever, always wanting to hold Nick’s hand or lean up against him. Not that Nick minds. The days are stagnant. He can’t even remember what they do for half of them. It feels like he’s awake throughout the day just so he can go to sleep at night.

He wakes up late and goes to bed early and Louis just cuddles him close.

It’s only seven o’clock but they’re in bed already, spooning. 

“Do you want to die?” Louis whispers, fingers light on Nick’s back.

Nick shifts forward a bit, away from Louis, and pretends to be asleep.

The next day, Louis asks again.

And he says it like it’s nothing, like it’s not one of the most sad and awkward questions you could ask. But the way they’re living right now, he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nick still doesn’t reply, makes like he’s busy sorting through papers they’ve gone through a million times.

“The fact that you’re not saying anything is bloody answer enough,” Louis says, and he’s crying now, choking on his words like they’re painful to get out. His face crumples, expression changing from angry to sad to something inscrutable in a matter of seconds.

Nick stares, not knowing what to do or say.

Louis falls to his knees as if the thought is impossible to bear, hiding his face in his hands, and Nick doesn’t understand why he’s reacting like this, when death anyway is just behind a door.

“Do you not?” he says finally, feeling stuck in a standstill, in an emotional void. Louis’ sobs don’t wrench at his heartstrings anymore, if at all. All he feels is a dull ache.

Louis shrugs, creeping forward, still on his knees. He reaches Nick’s legs and hangs onto them like a toddler not wanting to separate from his mother for a day of nursery. He takes heavy breaths, trying to calm down. His attempts are futile, though, when he says, “Nick, don’t leave me,” voice raw and shaking. His chest heaves.

Nick shakes his head. “Louis, I—”

But Louis is full on weeping now. “Please, Nick,” he begs. “I couldn’t—I can’t do this without you, please, don’t leave me, please, please, please—”

“I wouldn’t, I, I, I won’t,” Nick stutters. He tries to draw Louis up, grabbing onto his forearms, but Louis pulls him down instead.

He presses their foreheads together. “We can’t live like this. Why aren’t we gone yet?”

_ Gone _ isn’t clarified.

Nick takes a breath. “What do you want to do?”

“Can we leave? Can we try to go again?”

It’s eerily just like last time.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

~

Leaving, however, is drastically different than the last time. Planning, for one thing, was close to nonexistent. The method had approximately one step:  _ leave. _

Nick had worried about this, pleaded for some sort of game plan with Louis, but Louis was stubborn. “Planning didn’t help much last time, did it?” He asked. His voice was iron. It wasn’t a question. 

There’s no giggly excitement or jokes. Instead, there’s a tired kind of silence, as if they’ve gone through this ordeal many times before. Louis offers to drive and Nick doesn’t argue.

He thinks they both know what might happen.

They pull out of the garage, and Louis immediately revs the engine, not wasting any time. And apparently the zombies aren’t either. Nick and Louis are peacefully bumping along the road, when:

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Nick’s seen a whole parade of them close behind, already. They seem to be galloping in a sort of speed-walk, disintegrating limbs and loose pieces of skin flapping in the wind.

“It’s like they come out of fucking nowhere,” Louis says. He pulls out the shotgun beside him, glances to the side, and shoots somewhat blindly in that direction.

Nick has his gun loaded as well. He turns around in his seat and shoots behind them. The kickback is especially jarring. He yelps. “Are these  _ hybrids _ or something? Why are they going so fast?”

The zombies are making noises too, low shrieks that make them tremble.

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is so creepy,” Louis mutters. He swivels so he can shoot once more, then rests the empty gun on his lap. He keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, foot heavy on the gas. They’ve put a sizable distance between them with the speed they’re going at, but the zombies are still in sight.

Nick is still shooting when the car swerves out of control. Louis gasps, and Nick turns around just in time to see a zombie in front of them. The truck lurches after hitting it.

The vehicle overturns with a resounding  _ crash _ .

It takes Nick a couple of minutes to come to, and a couple more to get up. He struggles out of a broken window, climbing over friction-hot metal. His back is all cut up by the glass, shirt completely torn off. Blood drips all over him from unidentified wounds. Louis is staggering towards him, a deep gash on his forehead and a limp in his strides.

“Are you okay?” Nick croaks. 

Louis nods hurriedly, even though he’s obviously not. He steadies himself, hand on Nick’s hip. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Nick lies. He’s pretty sure his shoulder has popped out of its socket. 

“No.” Louis notices his limp arm, poking at it and wincing. Nick gasps.

“It looks like it’s  _ completely _ out,” Louis says, awed.

Nick grunts.

“Here, let me--” Louis pushes at him a bit, causing him to wobble on his feet. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Lay down.” He’s nibbling on his lip nervously. “Come  _ on _ , Nick. Just trust me.”

He lays down.

Louis sits next to him and braces his foot against Nick’s side. He grasps Nick’s wrist with two hands.

“Louis, wait, wait, what’re you—”

With a strong pull, Louis jerks Nick’s arm forward, making him scream. The joint slips back into place.

“Good as new,” Louis wheezes. 

"Thanks."

There’s a dull roar to their left. They make frantic eye contact.

Nick jerks his head at the woods, and they immediately take off running. Fast as they can, considering the injuries. He can’t help but glance behind them every few seconds, which is probably slowing him down, but he wants to keep an eye out. He’s been made paranoid.

They slow down a bit by the time they reach the forest. Louis struggles to get something out of his pocket. “I forgot I had this,” he pants. He holds a small, wooden whistle. “It was one of Harry’s theories. Apparently zombies can’t stand high pitched noises. Supposed to ward them off or something. I made this out of some of the extra wood we had, yeah? It’s like a dog whistle.”

He blows into the opening and a thin, tremulous sound erupts from the tiny whistle. It’s just barely audible, and definitely not pleasing to the ear.

Nick’s impressed. “Wow. Think it’ll work?”

“Dunno.” Louis shrugs. “Can’t hurt to use it.”

They continue a jog into the thick of the woods, finally stopping when Nick trips over a tree root and falls hard. Louis doesn’t even laugh. He just sits beside him and helps Nick up to a sitting position.

Nick takes the chance to look him over. There’s blood all over Louis’ face from the gash on his head. A bruise is forming underneath one of his eyes. His pants are pretty torn up, and Nick can see the scrapes all over his legs. He’s still so endlessly beautiful.

His inhales are shallow. Every exhale he presses into the whistle. He grimaces.

“What’s wrong?” Nick cradles Louis’ jaw.

“It’s my ribs,” Louis puffs. “I think a couple of them are broken.” He leans into Nick’s hand. 

“Poor baby.” He brushes the hair from Louis’ face.

“You’re not doing too great either, Nicky.” Louis holds his arms out for a hug. Nick gives it to him. Louis’ hands slide through the blood on his back.

“Now what? We’re pretty deep in here.”

“I guess we wait. Until the coast is clear, or summat.”

There’s advancing noise beyond the trees. 

“Fuck,” Louis hisses. He tries to get up but his legs collapse beneath him.

“Louis,” Nick says desperately. “I don’t think we can—” He stops. “We’re outnumbered. And I don’t know—I don’t think anyone’s coming for us, either.” He tilts his head in a vague sort of way, hoping it conveys what he means.

Louis is quick to catch on. His shoulders and eyelids droop. “Hmm.” Nick can tell he’s so, so tired. 

He blows the whistle once more, weakly. “Okay,” he says finally, voice cracking. “You’re right.” He crawls closer to Nick to they’re beside each other, backs resting against the trunk of a thick tree. He puts his head on Nick’s shoulder, buries his face into Nick’s neck. “Do it.”

Nick doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. He shudders. “Can we lay down for a bit?”

Louis glances around them anxiously, but agrees anyway. Nick instantly pushes Louis onto his back, then crawls between his legs so he can put his head on Louis’ chest, pressing his ear against Louis’ collarbone. They lay there quietly, silence deafening.

“Stop crying on me,” Louis says eventually, but tears are leaking out of his eyes too, dripping off the sides of his face and into his hair. Nick snuffles indistinctly and lifts himself up. 

“Okay.”

They stare at each other for a long time.

“Jesus Christ, just do it,” Louis tells him. “God.”

Nick lets himself sob once. “I love you,” he says, voice muffled from his tears. 

Louis grimaces like the words hurt him. “I love you too.” He grabs Nick’s hand and laces their fingers together. “C’mon,” he whispers. He closes his eyes.

Nick’s hands are shaking. He leans over so their heads are pressed together, temple to temple. 

_ Bang. _

~

Half an hour later, a helicopter circles the sky. A man sticks his head out of the open door, and into an industrial megaphone yells: “If you’re out there, give us a sign! We’re here to help!” He chokes, turns to the pilot.

“Bloody hell, it smells like death.”

The pilot coughs, and makes a face. “Do you see anything? Movement at all?”

“Only zombies.”

“Okay, Christ, let’s get out of here.”

“Told you there wouldn’t be anyone.”

“There might have been. Doesn’t hurt to check.”

They leave.


End file.
